


Outsides

by meggie272



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, this is set around season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 12:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggie272/pseuds/meggie272
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Outsides. Brittany remembers when Santana didn't care so much about outsides. Artie wishes they could talk about something else. Bartie, implied Brittana.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outsides

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel of sorts to my other ficlet 'Insides'.

"I remember when Santana didn't care so much about outsides," Brittany said vaguely.

Artie felt a little spider of apprehension crawl down his spine. She had to start talking about Santana, didn't she?

That was the thing about Brittany. She was completely honest, like an open book in her sincerity. Artie liked that. Tina had always played those weird convoluted women games about what she was feeling and what she was pretending to feel and what she wanted to feel but didn't and what she didn't want to feel but did. Brittany, quite frankly, sucked at them and it was really sweet.

So mostly Artie appreciated it. He'd never really had much experience in these things but he'd pretty quickly found out that it was nice in a half romantic, half completely normal way to have a pretty girl sit on your lap and spin both of you around in lazy half-circles and say what she thought about things.

It wasn't so good when the thing in mention was Santana.

It was pretty obvious that Santana and Brittany had been…well…close. In all senses of the word. Artie had found this idea very intriguing, until he found himself falling in love with Brittany. Santana was now to him what Mike Chang had once been – a dangerous threat to his happiness with bright eyes and functioning legs.

Functioning legs that were very nicely shaped.

"Do we have to talk about Santana?" Artie asked, burying his face into her sweet-scented hair. This knocked his glasses askew, and he didn't care.

"You don't have to. But I'd like to." The light on his girlfriend's front porch was low, the sun sinking somewhere out of view. The air was warm and the air smelt of flowers and Brittany and the possibilities of summer. He'd had high hopes for this evening, but he could hear the note of desolation in her voice and he was pretty sure this wasn't a situation where you insisted on changing the subject or making out instead of talking, no matter how uncomfortable you felt about the whole thing.

So he kept quiet.

"She never used to care what other people thought," Brittany said quietly, and she sounded so sad that it hurt Artie.

He rested his cheek on her back, dislodging his glasses further, and felt the heat of her through her neon-pink tanktop.

"I'm sorry, Brit," he said. "People…change."

"That's what she said," she muttered morosely. "If we're going to change, I don't see why we can't change into something better. Like caterpillars do. And cake mix."

"Um," said Artie.

Brittany sighed and interlaced their fingers. "Never mind, Artie. Don't be sad."

"I wasn't sad."

"Don't be sad, Artie. Santana will be okay. She usually is. She just doesn't like feelings much."

"Who does?"

"You do, you talk about them a lot." Brittany stood up abruptly, causing Artie's glasses to slide precariously down his nose (they really weren't having a good time tonight) and turned round to face him. She was all neon-pink and blonde hair and long legs in the dying light.

"Want to play Twister?" she asked.

Artie slapped away a hopeful mosquito that had landed on his cheek. "Brittany..."

"Oookay." She smiled impishly. "Want to watch me and Lord Tubbington play Twister?"

"Alright." Artie wheeled himself inside after her, following her into her bedroom where she rummaged for the Twister box.

He tried to ignore the framed photo of two young girls in Cheerio uniforms that sat on her bedside table – the one with the interlaced pinkies and the lipglossed smiles and the love.


End file.
